Sunday, July 20, 2014
This poem is a selfie, nest and doughnut
This poem is busy
As flock of birds scavenging for food in parking lot
As passengers alighting from subway, clutching their
iphones tightly as if their hands are born with it.
As if ears are sockets, forever plugged with noise.
This poem is a selfie.
This poem is made of twigs
A week ago, I wanted to play god when a baby robin
fell from the small nest, its wet black feathers broken.
But the woman on the phone said, let the mother robin
decide what to do with her baby.
This poem allows nature to take its course.
This poem is a nest.
This poem is hungry
As the people lining up at Tim Horton's take out lane.
Some people are lazy, why can't they just go out of their cars
& get it quickly, someone asked.
Maybe they are looking for comfort, I say.
Maybe every step is jagged stone.
This poem is a doughnut.
This poem is a socket for selfies.
This poem is a twiggy nest, now empty of birds.
This poem is comforting as a take-out doughnut.
For Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Boomerang metaphor created by Hannah Gosselin
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~